tfraser@tstt.net.tt

Taking comfort in wI cricket gods of past

• Ramadhin and Valentine bemused the greatest English batsmen of the day.
• No other batman came close to the brutal dominance of Richards.

In times of famine, West Indian cricket fanatics can take comfort in the memories of the times of plenty.

We have not had a world-class bowler since the two giant fast bowlers, Ambrose and Walsh, who took 421 wickets in 49 Tests in partnership, took their leave in 2000 and 2001, but we have our memories of them felling great batsmen, many of them bound in chains by pace and accuracy.

In the 1932-33 “Bodyline” series against Jardine and Larwood, Bradman was reduced to an average of 56.57, scoring a meagre 396 runs with only one century, 103.

How would the acknowledged greatest batsman of all time have feared against the WI four-man pace attack that devastated batting teams for over a decade in different permutations of: Roberts, Holding, Daniel, Marshall, Garner, Croft, Clarke, Walsh, Ambrose and Bishop?

I like to think he would have been made human.

I think too of Hall and Griffith with Sobers first change, the latter bending his left-arm over-the-wicket fast-medium deliveries, normally slanting across the right-handed batsman, back into the likes of Geoff Boycott, uprooting his middle stump or hitting plumb on his pad.

Oh what a transcendent memory.

I never saw them in action, but Bradman wished he had had Constantine and Martindale to pit against Larwood, Voce, Jardine and the English team of the 1932-33 era.

In that era of a colonial team walking softly amongst the likes of England and Australia and those few and far-between Tests, the Golfito boats taking two weeks to England and three to Australia, Constantine, Martindale and Griffith have not been remembered in the same manner as those who came after, but the records show they were a handful for the likes of Hammond, Bradman and company.

When we properly announced ourselves as a serious force in Test cricket, 1950, it was not through our speed merchants but those “two little pals of mine—Ramadhin and Valentine.” They completely bemused Hutton, Washbrook and the greatest English batsmen of the day.

In that historic 1961 tour to Australia, the lean Lance Gibbs began his journey to 309 Test wickets; he must rank amongst the great off-spinners of the game. He had it all: flight, spin, deceptive change of pace and trajectory. We have not had a world ranked spin bowler since his departure in the early 1970s.

In the last three distinct periods of great batsmanship, golden eras all of them, since the early 1960s, West Indian batting gods have ruled.

The young Sobers mastered the great Australians, Davidson and Benaud and just before he left 15 years later, he taught the young Australian tearaway lion, Dennis Lillee, a lesson he must never have forgotten through his career; at one point he smashed Lillee past his head.

Bradman said the 256 was the “greatest display of batting he had ever seen in Australia,” and remember the Don saw Stan McCabe against Larwood in the Bodyline, the latter removed from the attack during the course of a blistering counter-attack (187) from McCabe.

Surely no other batsman came close to the brutal dominance of Vivian Isaac in that period after Sobers; perhaps Greg Chappell, orthodox stylist, had a couple years as Vivian was developing his game.

But Richards’ utter domination and brutality against the fast bowlers of the era was perhaps never surpassed in history. He could very well have given Larwood and Voce a thumping. He certainly would not have been running for cover.

And when Richards left the game, his eminence Brian Charles strode onto the field and down the wicket to the spinners, hitting them to all parts of the ground. During the two days of his first bewildering display of batsmanship, the 277 at Sydney, Steve Waugh said he never saw such precision in piercing the field: “We concluded the only way we could get him out on that day was to run him out,” which they did.

If Sobers and Richards were devastating against the fast men—and Wes Hall settled the score when an attempt was made to compare Graeme Pollock with the great man from Barbados by noting that he seared the ball into the South African’s ribcage to keep him quite and eventually get his wicket; but he would never attempt that against Gary as he knew the fielders would be picking the ball off the fence—Lara was incomparable against the spinners.

Against indisputably two of the greatest spinners of all time, Warne and Murali, Lara averaged 70-odd and over 120 respectively. In a series in the WI, Lara almost ended Warne’s career, and in Sri Lanka on spinner-friendly pitches, Lara devastated Murali.

So in the last three eras, I comfort myself in the knowledge that Sobers, Richards and Lara ruled.

Not by a long shot have I forgotten the first great West Indian batsman, George Headley, whose Test average and one century every four innings outstrip even the above three.

“Mas George” must have been exceptional. West Indian civilisation has been severely deprived by not having lasting visual evidence in moving pictures of Headley.

I often attempt to conceive of how this great man, in a colonial era, conquered Australia and England, how he demonstrated in that socio-political environment (1930s) of dominance by whites over blacks on the field of cricket, that he was not subservient to anyone.

Headley felt personally offended by the suggestion of someone that the deadly accurate England left-arm spinner, Hedley Verity, could employ short legs against him; he almost had a fit that anyone could think that a bowler could so contain him.

CLR James said Headley went to Australia in 1933 as predominantly an offside player and left down under being described by Clarrie Grimmett as the greatest onside player he had bowled his legspin and googlies to.

But perhaps Headley’s greatest accolade is to have had Bradman referred to as “the white Headley.”

I would have committed heresy if I did not mention the 3Ws: many believe Weekes to have been the most brutal against all but the best bowlers; Walcott, on the back foot driving Lindwall and Miller through the covers, being gladiatorial; and Sir Frank Magline, the silkiest of batsmen.

I will say more.